


Domesticated

by LordofLies



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Javert Survives, Desperation Play, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Watersports
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-06-25
Packaged: 2018-02-06 06:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1847266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordofLies/pseuds/LordofLies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You do not really think so little of yourself, do you?” Valjean said softly.  “That because you were born of convicts, you deserve to be humiliated and mistreated?”</p><p>Javert’s tired eyes flashed.  “You do not mistreat me.  I asked for this.  I wanted this.”</p><p>Valjean smiled sadly.  “I do my best, but sometimes I find I understand you less than I believed.”  He planted a gentle kiss on Javert’s forehead.  It was familial, tender, and chaste—a far cry from the passionate kissing the two had engaged in earlier.  And yet somehow it was Valjean’s most tender and innocent touches that always undid Javert.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Domesticated

**Author's Note:**

> Oh my god I wrote porn.

Valjean sat on the edge of the bed, stiff as a board despite the racing of his heart and the hot flush on his cheeks. It was late, and the meal he had shared with Javert had gone on for far longer than he had anticipated. Throughout the dinner Javert had continuously plied him with wine—an indulgence he rarely allowed himself—and only now did he realize he’d drunk too much. There had been no opportunity to escape. It would have been impolite to leave the table while Javert was talking, and the inspector had been unusually talkative that night. Valjean had learned quite a bit about various police practices and officials and exactly what Javert’s opinions were on their behavior and on possible improvements to the system, though Valjean had to admit that as the night wore on his attention had begun to wander. His eyes drifted and his focus shifted from Javert’s words to his lips, wet and red with wine.

The drink had lubricated their tongues, and it wasn’t long before conversation turned into kissing, and kissing into hands fisted in shirts and fingers brushing against skin, and before Valjean knew it Javert had led him, flushed and panting, into the bedroom.

Valjean looked up at Javert, who loomed over him with the gleam of a predator in his dark eyes. The hunted animal that still lurked in Valjean’s breast started up in alarm beneath his ribs—like a hare frightened by a hound. His tongue stuck in his mouth, and he had a fleeting, desperate wish for another glass of wine. Javert licked his lips as he looked down at Valjean, sizing him up as though he were a fresh cut of meat. The look in his eyes was one that spoke of devouring.

There was a sharp twinge in Valjean’s lower abdomen, and he groaned softly. He pressed his legs together and looked down at his lap, trying to ignore the painful pressure in his bladder.

“Look at me,” Javert said, and so Valjean looked up, his discomfort evident on his face. “Are you alright?” Javert asked.

Valjean swallowed, mouth dry. He didn’t want to leave, but the need to urinate was becoming unbearable.

“It seems I drank a bit too much wine. I need to, ah, _relieve myself_ , before we can continue,” he admitted, flushed with embarrassment and the heat of the liquor. He was, it seemed, somewhat drunk.

Javert said nothing, but tilted his head quizzically. Valjean squirmed beneath his penetrating gaze.

“I see…” he said eventually, drinking in the sight of Valjean trembling on the edge of the bed. He put a hand on Valjean’s thigh and squeezed, which made the other man gasp. “I think you should stay right here.”

“W-what?” Valjean stammered, looking up at Javert incredulously. “You can’t mean that! I mean, I really do need to go before we can continue…”

Javert’s expression was like impenetrable. His hand skimmed from Valjean’s thigh to the apex of his legs, where his fingertips brushed against the growing hardness there. Valjean made a high keening sound which sent blood rushing to Javert’s cock.

“Stay,” whispered Javert, as he palmed his partner’s growing erection. “I like you this way.”

Valjean’s eyes fluttered closed and he gasped, his hips jerked up in response to Javert’s touches—a reaction which Valjean immediately cursed as the water which sloshed inside him threatened to burst out. His trousers felt a bit damp, and he knew he was leaking.

“I won’t…” he groaned as Javert leaned in to trace the side of his neck with his tongue. “I won’t be able to hold it for much longer. If you keep—ah!—touching me like this, I’ll—ohhh...”

“I know,” Javert whispered hotly against his neck, and Valjean had to squeeze his eyes shut and hold his breath to keep the dam from bursting. Javert kissed his collar gently and his hand drifted up to press against Valjean’s belly. Valjean cried out as he felt a trickle of fluid escape him.

“You are—ohhhhh—quite cruel. Ah! Javert,” Valjean gasped out. Javert kissed him on the mouth, the pads of his fingers gently kneading the trembling man’s lower belly.

“Not cruel. Just,” Javert replied, eyes glinting. “You did drink an awful lot of wine. I think this is a fair punishment.” He pressed his fingers in harder and Valjean moaned pitifully. He leaned in closer to Valjean. “Would you like another glass?”

Valjean had never heard anything so vindictive come from his lover’s lips before. His mouth hung open for a moment, then he swallowed.

“Yes,” he admitted, pupils dilated and bladder throbbing in protestation. Surely he could not drink a drop more; he would not be able to hold it in any longer. He would release the reservoir inside him and soak his trousers—soak both their trousers. His cock twitched at the thought, and with a mingled sensation of horror and exhilaration, he realized that maybe that’s exactly what Javert wanted.

“Here,” Javert said, raising a glass to Valjean’s lips. He leaned forward, legs still pressed tightly together, and sipped the wine from the glass. He groaned with ecstatic agony. The drink burned its way down his throat and dropped like a lead weight in his stomach. His bladder trembled and contracted, urging him to let go, but he refused. He could yet last.

“Very good,” Javert said, tipping the contents of the glass further into Valjean’s mouth so that he had to swallow it or choke. He drained the entire glass. The pressure inside him cut as sharply as a knife. Valjean gasped, feeling yet more fluid escape from his throbbing, half-hard cock. There was a visible stain on the front of his trousers now. He squeezed his eyes shut to force back the tears of pain and embarrassment that had gathered at the rims of his eyelids. A single drop escaped and rolled down his cheek. Javert leaned in and licked the tear from his face.

“Spread your legs for me,” he breathed.

“Oh God, Javert,” Valjean groaned, feeling his length throb with more than one kind of need. “Oh God, I cannot. I cannot.” He shook his head desperately.

“Hush, hush,” Javert said, stroking Valjean’s thighs soothingly. They slid gently into the crevice between Valjean’s knees and tried to push his legs apart, but Valjean’s muscles were firm as iron and would not budge. Javert looked at Valjean, and the older man could see that the inspector’s pupils were dilated so far with lust that the iris was only a thin ring of brown around a dark, fathomless pit.

“I cannot do this unless you let me,” he said, and Valjean let out a shaky groan.

“I will not be able to hold it.”

“Yes you will,” Javert insisted, wetting his lips. “You can. Spread your legs, Valjean,” he said again, and this time, Valjean obeyed.

He relaxed the muscles of his thighs and allowed Javert to part his legs, but as soon as he loosened his control over his body, he felt urine begin to seep into his trousers. With a gasp, Valjean thrust a hand into his trousers and grabbed his throbbing length, squeezing it so as to not let anything more escape. Javert watched all this with a dry mouth.

“Valjean.”

“Ah! Nnnn… What, Javert?” Valjean gasped. Javert bit the inside of his cheek, dredging up the words he wished to say with half-lidded eyes.

“I want you in my mouth,” he said, his voice hoarse and his knees trembling imperceptibly. Valjean jerked forward, tightening his grip on his cock as the tender organ throbbed with pain and arousal.

“Oh God, Javert,” he cried, “You cannot say things such as that. You cannot—when I am nearly spilling myself in my trousers like a child!”

Trembling, and harnessing every ounce of self-control in his possession, Javert sank to his knees between Valjean’s spread thighs, his fingers still digging into the other man’s legs and keeping them parted. Gingerly, he moved one hand to unbutton the front of Valjean’s trousers, revealing the other man’s flushed, engorged cock. Javert wanted nothing more than to feel Valjean thrust that organ down his throat and force him to take it.

He glanced up briefly at Valjean. The poor man was a portrait of agony and desire—his face flushed and damp with sweat, his lips parted and his breath coming in short, airy little gasps. Feeling immensely pleased, Javert pressed his lips gently to the soft, wet head of Valjean’s erection. The skin was hot, slick, and smooth. As he touched it, Valjean’s hips jerked forward a fraction, and a small spurt of urine trickled between Javert’s lips and down his chin.

“Oh God. Oh God, Javert,” Valjean cried, his voice rough and trembling. “I am so sorry, I cannot—oooohh…” he moaned, rolling his hips forward as Javert suckled at the head of his cock. He drew back for a moment, and looked up at Valjean through lust-hazed eyes.

“Remove your hand,” he said, and Valjean trembled to see those lips—wet with saliva and his own bodily fluids—make that demand of him.

“Ja _vert_!” he cried, his voice cracking as he struggled desperately to keep control over his bodily functions. “If I do… ah… ah… Mmm! It will not take long at all—oh! Oh! Before I—“

Javert stroked the back of Valjean’s hand with gentle fingers, and with a desperate sobbing sound, Valjean loosened his grip on himself. His will was as strong as his body, and as he kept his thighs tensed, barely anything escaped from him as he fisted his hands into the sheets, panting and groaning with effort and agony.

Without even a warning, Javert swallowed his cock and began to suck, sliding the hot flesh in and out of his mouth. Valjean cried out and wept. The effort to keep himself from releasing was immense, and the pain he felt as a result was destroying him. He began to babble.

“Oh please, Javert! Oh! Oh! Oh, have mercy.   Ah… ah… ah! Javert! Oh, Javert this is torture, truly. Ah… nnnn… oh… please! You must stop, you must let me… I could not bear it if I—oh! To degrade you in such…ah! Ah… a way, I could not—oh! Oh, please, I’m begging you! Let me… ah! Let me go!”

Tears streamed from his eyes and his bladder was about to burst. His cock was hard and he felt himself reaching the brink, but he could not orgasm with this much weight inside him…

In what must surely have been an act of grace, Javert let his mouth slide from Valjean’s cock with a wet pop, and he looked up at Valjean, breathing hard.

“You are close, then?” he asked. Valjean nodded, tears leaving glistening trails down his cheeks.

“Oh, yes! I cannot bear any more, I must… I must…” he panted. Javert swallowed thickly, and then, without breaking eye contact with Valjean, he brushed his lips back against Valjean’s cock and opened his mouth invitingly, letting his hot breath ghost over the sensitive organ.

“What must be done, must be done,” he said, before licking a drop of fluid from the tip of Valjean’s length. “I have to admit, you’ve lasted far longer than I thought you would…”   Valjean nodded vigorously.

“Yes, yes. Now, please, I’m begging you, let me go so I no longer have to bear this agony.” Javert licked his lips thoughtfully, and then his mouth split into the most terrifying grin. It was a grin that Valjean knew only too well—the smile of the tiger who has caught his prey, the one that every criminal in France dreads to see—a mirth utterly devoid of any mercy.

“No,” Javert said, breathless in his delight. “You will go nowhere.” Valjean felt his hope plummet back into dread, sloshing inside him like a stone dropped into a pond.

“Javert!” Valjean cried desperately. “I can bear this no longer!”

“What will you do then?” Javert whispered, breath ghosting over the tip of Valjean’s erection. “Will you release now? Drench me in urine, like a dog marking its territory? Soak my trousers, stain my white blouse yellow?” Valjean’s expression was mortified at this crass exposition, but Javert was only becoming more aroused. He wet his lips again, let the tip of his tongue flick out and lap another bead of fluid from Valjean.

“Or will you wait until I have you in my mouth again? Sucking, coaxing you into release. Would you piss down my throat? Use my body like a sewer? Just a vessel for your bodily fluids?” Javert leaned in and sucked gently on the head of Valjean’s cock, teasing his tongue into the slit as Valjean cried out with desperation. “You should,” he said, looking up at Valjean again, challenging—demanding. “I deserve it. I am from the gutter, Valjean. Use me like one.”

The moment those soft lips had engulfed him again, Valjean knew that he was lost. With a cry, the sharp pain in his belly became even more acute as he struggled to relax his tense and trembling muscles—to let go despite his mortification at what he was about to do. In a rush, the dam broke and Valjean groaned with relief as his cock pulsed and released a thick stream of urine down Javert’s throat. The inspector’s eyelids fluttered and his eyes rolled back as he continued to suck Valjean’s cock. Valjean watched, as though in a reverie, as the knot of Javert’s throat bobbed with each swallow, and keened softly every time he felt the slick walls of his lover’s throat contract around the head of his cock.

Long moments passed and Valjean’s body continued to release a steady stream of hot piss into Javert’s mouth. Valjean could feel his horror growing as Javert continued to drink from him. This was dirty and degrading and oh God, could Javert possibly be _enjoying_ this? If the soft moaning sounds he was making around Valjean’s cock and the little thrusts of his hips were any indication, then it seemed that the answer was yes. Valjean squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth hanging open in an exhausted ecstasy as he felt the steady stream finally begin to lessen into shallow and intermittent spurts, which Javert sucked from him hungrily.

Finally, Valjean was empty, and Javert let his still-erect cock slide from his mouth with a tired groan. He pursed his lips and swallowed, and held a hand over his now tender and swollen belly. Both men sat there panting for a moment. Valjean could feel his arousal returning now, no longer intermingled with the need to relieve his aching bladder, as he watched Javert touch the front of his own trousers, which were stained dark with his release.

“You came from that?” Valjean murmured, incredulous and aroused. Javert glanced up at him, his cheeks flushed crimson.

“When I first felt you release down my throat, yes,” he admitted. Valjean closed his eyes and groaned. He was still hard, and his cock twitched as he recalled the image of Javert’s mouth around his pissing cock, swallowing his release like a man dying of thirst.

“I had no idea you enjoyed that kind of…humiliation,” Valjean said, still gazing at Javert with half-hung eyelids.

“I think we both enjoyed it,” he said, groaning and pressing a hand against his overfull stomach as he leaned in to nuzzle Valjean’s cock. Boneless, and too exhausted from his ordeal to maintain his position any longer, Valjean let himself fall back against the mattress. He thought of the discomfort that Javert must be in now, after having drunk that much. He squirmed a bit at the thought. All the liquid which had been inside him, torturing him, was now inside Javert, about to be recycled the same way. He found the thought strangely erotic and shuddered.

“I suppose I still must make you come,” he heard Javert say, and before he could raise himself up onto his elbows to see what Javert was doing, he felt his trousers and undergarments yanked from his body and tossed aside. Javert’s hands gripped his thighs below the knee and pushed his legs up into the air so that his rear was hanging off the edge of the bed, exposed.

“Javert, what are—oh!” he gasped, as he felt Javert’s hot tongue lick along the cleft of his ass. Valjean let the words die in his mouth and contended himself with making little gasps and moans of pleasure as Javert teased his entrance with his tongue and sucked on the tender flesh there. He let out a cry when Javert thrust that hot tongue inside him, caressing those inner walls with its slick heat. It did not take long for him to find release, and he came, shuddering, as Javert continued to open him up with little thrusts of his tongue.

He felt Javert withdraw, letting his legs dangle freely again. Dazed with pleasure and with wine, Valjean propped himself up on his elbows to see Javert still kneeling on the floor, breathing hard. Valjean sat up and ran a hand through his partner’s sweaty hair.

“You do not really think so little of yourself, do you?” he said softly. “That because you were born of convicts, you deserve to be humiliated and mistreated?”

Javert’s tired eyes flashed. “You do not mistreat me. I asked for this. I wanted this.”

Valjean smiled sadly. “I do my best, but sometimes I find I understand you less than I believed.” He planted a gentle kiss on Javert’s forehead. It was familial, tender, and chaste—a far cry from the passionate kissing the two men had engaged in earlier. And yet somehow it was Valjean’s most tender and innocent touches that always undid Javert.

Javert was a man who loathed introspection, and Valjean’s words always had the unpleasant affect of making him think. _And yet you keep coming back_ , he reminded himself. So what was it exactly that he wanted? Javert could not say. Perhaps Valjean was right, and he still did not truly believe he was deserving of love and affection free of punishment and degradation. He did not want to tell Valjean that such mixed affection and humiliation had been the only kind of love he had ever known.

Unconditional kindness—tenderness without an undertone of violence or command—was utterly foreign to him. It frightened him. Perhaps that was why he had done this, tried to get Valjean to treat him the way he thought he deserved to be treated, but could not ask for outright. Javert would rather bite and claw and kiss—draw pleasure like drawing blood—experience sex as though he were an animal and it was the base and lustful act that he had always believed it to be.

Sex with Jean Valjean was not like that.

Valjean was gentle, shy, and chaste even during this. He kissed Javert tenderly, his eyes warm, his touches soft and undemanding. He was submissive and let Javert do as he liked, unless Javert became agitated, at which times Valjean would kiss him gently and stroke Javert’s sides and face with his large, warm hands, all the while whispering endearments into his ear and telling him to slow down and to breathe, as though he were gentling a wild animal.

Javert was loath to admit that Valjean had _domesticated_ him. He’d taken the fierce police dog and collared it with his touches, taught him to heel with a glance from those warm, melancholy eyes. This watchdog, the son of wolves, had been transformed into a lapdog by the very man whom he had once pursued as prey. Jean Valjean turned Javert’s world upside down, and he was still learning to walk on his hands.

Somehow, he though Valjean already knew what his kindness did to Javert—as he knew what his mercy had once brought Javert to the brink of—and Javert did not want to bring it up if he could help it. He did not want to see the pity in Valjean’s eyes. It inflamed his ire and made him want to hurt the man he loved most, and he did not wish to jeopardize this for anything. He could, and must, bear these pangs and confusions on his own. It was not Valjean’s responsibility to carry the weight of Javert’s damaged heart—there were enough scars upon his own.

“Come,” Valjean said, getting to his feet and extending his hand for Javert to take. “Let’s get cleaned up, and go to bed.” He smiled what would have surely been a wicked smile on any other man. “I’m sure that you will need to visit the bathroom soon.”

Javert grunted as he hauled himself to his feet. He could feel the heavy weight of the fluid he’d imbibed sloshing inside him.

“You are correct, as usual,” he replied crisply. Valjean laughed, and kissed him on the mouth. Javert did not understand how Valjean could be so placid, could kiss Javert’s mouth, filthy as it was, filthy as Javert was. He was not worthy of someone as pure as Valjean.

“Let us not dwell on sad or unpleasant things any longer tonight,” Valjean murmured into his ear. “Tomorrow we will go to the market and purchase fresh fruits and cheeses, and you will help me prune the rosebushes.”

“I do not see the point of flowers,” Javert retorted, following Valjean out of the bedroom. “They serve no purpose, feed no hunger.”

“That is where you are wrong, Javert,” Valjean said, his expression irritatingly serene. “They are beautiful, and one needs beautiful things as much as food or shelter in order to live.”

“That is pure nonsense.”

“You are beautiful,” Valjean says pointedly, as if it were the most apparent and ordinary fact imaginable, “and I need you to live. There are many kinds of beauty in the world. Love is a form of beauty, don’t you think?”

Javert blushed scarlet.

“You are drunk.”

Valjean laughed again, and it made Javert’s whole body feel warm, as if he too, were wine-drunk, though he knew he was not.

“Perhaps, but I know what I say to be true, and even if you do not at present, I am sure that some day you will begin to see things my way.”

“You certainly have a habit of forcing me to change my outlook on the world,” Javert said dryly. Valjean shook his head, exasperated.

“You are very obstinate.”

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

Valjean silenced his partner with a kiss. “If you keep talking,” he said carefully, “We will never get any sleep, and nothing will get done tomorrow.”

“Then let us do nothing tomorrow,” Javert said, and kissed him back.

“You do not mean that. You abhor idleness.”

“You know me too well.”

Their banter continued as they washed up, and then Valjean returned to bed to allow Javert to empty his aching bladder in private, something which Javert found hysterically funny, late as it was and blood still pumping with the excitements of the evening.

No, he did not think he was worthy of Jean Valjean, but as Javert returned to the bedroom—washed and dried, his cheeks still pink from Valjean’s words—he thought that maybe this was an injustice he could allow for Valjean’s sake, and a crime he could overlook for his own.


End file.
